The Other Side of This Life
by Giraffe Dinosaur
Summary: If Meredith was the twelve-year-old, then he would have to be an egg. But this one isn't going to just up and leave her one month like all the rest. This egg is just hot and ready, begging to be given the chance to bring new life into her world. -Oneshot-


_Private Practice_

**01.**

**Title:** The Other Side of This Life

**Summary:** If Meredith was the twelve-year-old then Dell would have to be an egg, and just the thought has the tears back in her eyes. But this one isn't going to just up and leave her one month because she's not being some major slut. This egg is just hot and ready, begging to be given the chance to bring new life into her world. Dell/Addison

**Summary:** Tag/remix for "The Other Side of This Life, Part 2". When she hears the voice, at first, she thinks it's Pete. Instead, she finds Dell.

**Rating:** K+

**Warnings:** Hints to things a person wouldn't know all the way back in the day. Of course, they're small hints that wouldn't make sense unless you're a current watcher of _Private Practice_, so it doesn't matter =)

**Author's Note:** This is an episode tag, or changed scene, from one of those very early_ Grey's/Private Practice _episodes. This scene, you may recognize, is the one where Addison cries on the stairs and Pete kisses her to show her that she isn't dried up just because she has two eggs. This is kind of what I imagine could've happened had Dell gone to check in instead.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. _Private Practice_ is not mine and it never will be. It belongs to far richer people.

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(1/1)**_

Rough edges dig into her thighs. With each shuddering breath, her blue scrubs scrape against the thin non-stick strip. It serves its purpose, holding her body right where it should be. Falling down the steps is too O'Malley, while simply lying on the floor is a bit too blond for the red-headed surgeon.

Addison's fingers wring at the tissue in her left hand. Flimsy material slowly falls apart from the wetness and the friction. She sees the parallelism in it all; everything meant to sustain her and keep her life in order is falling apart. Maybe it's just a tissue, but it seems like so much more the longer she hides in a stairwell at St. Ambrose. When did this become her life? When did Addison Adrienne Forbes Montgomery become this person? And what does she have to do get the old her back?

_Go back in time_, she thinks bitterly. _Go back to when I slept around with Mark Sloan and got pregnant with the only child I'll apparently ever carry._

When the door opens, she should be surprised. However, she's worked at Seattle Grace long enough to know that stairs are probably the most open place a person can deal with emotions. Of course, when she's a new person in a strange hospital, and half of the people she knows are breathing down her neck for a child that she will never be able to even dream of creating, stairs seem like the holy grail of bathroom stalls. It's like middle school, back before the days of hot girl Addison with the great figure and immaculate career. Only this time, the person consoling her isn't her mother's secretary, or the guidance counselor; it's a muscled man with eyes of hope and just a bit of knowing sadness.

When she hears the voice, at first, she thinks it's Pete. Addison hasn't been in town long, but she already knows that Pete has a way of finding women when they need someone. So she turns around ready to see him for the first time since he left her on a table with needles in her face. Instead, she finds Dell.

"H-hi," she whispers. She chooses to ignore the stutter. She's a grown woman. She's an excellent surgeon. She does not stutter. (Especially not for Zefron look-a-likes.)

"Naomi asked me to check in. She figured you'd be having a rough time," Dell says. He doesn't let on that he probably knows why she's here. She doesn't know whether to appreciate that, or resent it. Why would Naomi send him here? Sure, he's good for a quick pick me up at one and two, but he's not who she needs. Who she needs is her best friend, with a bottle of wine, and something to erase this searing feeling coursing through her veins.

Addison takes him in for a moment. He surfs. She's never even touched a surfboard. She doesn't do crazy things. She's a baby surgeon. She works with moms and things too small to even breathe sometimes. All she does is surgery and ultrasounds. She used to think about what it would be like when she got to sit there. Now, all she'll ever have are those thoughts. She'll never hold her own flesh and blood in her arms and cuddle it into her side. She'll never get to be a super-mom like Naomi.

"Naomi told me to branch out," Dell says. Addison reminds herself to focus. He goes on, "She wants me to talk to people. Have actual conversations with women other than her, about things other than her. I'm not doing too good at that so far."

Addison laughs a bit. She tells him, "I've had years of decoding Naomi. And what she meant was that you should talk to women your own age. Not mine."

"Women my own age seem to be problematic for me," he shares.

She could say the same for men in hers. Or just men in general. They all want something. They all have a price.

She wonders what it will be for him. He's kind of like Mark. He stares and takes in everything she does. But, he's more of an O'Malley. Out of place, awkward hair, ogled at by women who should be doing something else, and way too young for her to ever truly consider. But she does consider him. (Dell, not George – that'd be too twisted and complicated even for her.)

It stings just a bit when she thinks he's got to be at least ten years younger than her. If Meredith is a twelve-year-old, then Dell would have to be an egg. Just the thought has the tears back in her eyes. But this one isn't going to just up and leave her some month because she's not out being some major slut. This egg is just hot and ready, begging to be given the chance to bring new life into her world. And Addison needs new life.

So she opens her mouth and she speaks.

"I hate stairs," she states.

His "okay" sounds as confused as she feels.

"They're so open and accessible, and every time anything happens everyone in the world seems to know about it. At Seattle Grace, you don't take the stairs. You go on the elevator and you wind up wrapped around the interns even though your sixty days aren't up and your husband dates a twelve-year-old and you can't even say anything because you had an affair with the biggest manwhore to ever walk the streets of Manhattan which is saying a lot."

She takes a second to breathe. Dell just tries to wrap his head around what she said.

"What?"

She breathes again. It sounds a little sadder, like she's resigned herself to this horrible fate of hers.

"Nothing. I don't even know what I'm saying. I just…. I came here to live, you know? I was going to lay on the sand with drinks I didn't know the name of, and guys all around me – guys who didn't battle for surgeries in their spare time. But I didn't do that. And I'm never going to get the chance to make out with cute little beach boys because I'm all dried up. I'm just this dried up old prune. No wonder Karev didn't want me."

Just like Mark didn't want her, or Derek. No one wants Addison. Poor little Addison. Poor little adulterous whore who has finally been exposed to the cruel and soul-crushing ways of karma.

Dell sits down next to her. She finds herself unable to look away from the boyish face staring back at her.

"I don't know who this Karev person is, but if he didn't want you, he's probably got bigger problems than you do," Dell says. She gives him a look somewhere between 'you're crazy' and denial. He just keeps talking, "You're not old, Addison. You're an unbelievably attractive woman. You don't need to get drunk on the beach to have guys surrounding you."

"I don't even want them surrounding me now. What's the point? There is no point in being around guys. I don't need guys," she declares. _I need a miracle._ She doesn't say it out loud. Somehow, the message goes through the air.

He sighs.

She blinks.

She needs a miracle. She needs something to give her hope. Right now, all she has is the crumpled tissue that's only one piece because her fist is closed so tightly around it. She has no future now. She can't have the life she always envisioned. She's going to wind up like Ellis Grey, brilliant, alone, and remembered for nothing more than a series of surgeries.

Finally, he asks the right question.

"What's wrong?"

"Me," she croaks. Silence wraps around the two of them, squeezing until she can't even force out her words it hurts so much. "Everything's wrong. My whole life is wrong. I should be out living my life. Instead, I'm here, crying to some cute surfer boy about the life I'll never get to have."

"And what life is that?" he asks.

What life? The perfect one. In that life, she wears blouses covered in spit up and doesn't care a bit. In that life, she drives the convertible with the top off and a bunch of child-friendly bumper stickers adorn the back. In that life, she's happy.

"I'm thirty-nine and childfree," she reports.

"Good thing, your kids would be so mad at you," he says. She fixes him with her dirtiest stare but he just laughs.

"That's not funny," she says.

"They'd hate you for looking so good. You'd definitely be a MILF. I mean, all of your daughter's potential boyfriends would be more interested in dusting with you than making out with her. All of your son's friends would come over for video games and end up going through family photos with you instead, just because when you flip the page, your hand gets about three inches away from their thighs and it would just drive them wild."

She chuckles then. It's such a ridiculous picture, all of those little boys chasing after her. She could laugh about it with Naomi, or tell Mark she found a miniature version of him cleaning her pool.

_Only, I won't._

She stops laughing.

"I'm thirty-nine, childfree, and eggless," she corrects her earlier statement. She doesn't see the way Dell's face falls. She doesn't catch the almost guilty look that crosses his face. She's too busy staring into the ruins of her life.

"You can always adopt," he says.

Yeah, right. Because they'll just love handing over a helpless life to a single surgeon who spends her time between surgeries, sleeping with inappropriate men, running away to California, and breaking down in stairwells.

She settles for answering, "It's not the same."

"I know, but if you do…" He trails off. Addison turns to him.

"If I do?"

He nods slowly, thoughts playing across his face. Beneath the shaggy overgrown surfer boy hair, his eyes burn with determination. "If you do," he starts again, "you'll still hold a kid in your arms. You'll still be awake at four in the morning too afraid to close your eyes because she might start crying. You'll still have a practice, and friends, and all of the crazy boys chasing you around. Plus, you'll always have this waiting for you."

Before she can ask (hell, before she can even think), his lips are on hers. She moves with him, against him, for him. The tissue falls to the ground as her hands find something else to play with.

He pulls back. Her lips try for one last touch.

He laughs.

She joins him.

For the first time, in what feels like days, she relaxes.

Her fingers linger in his soft locks, dragging out the moment just a bit longer.

"So that's what I have to look forward to?" she asks. He nods, smile still playing on his perfectly tanned, gorgeous man face.

"It'll happen whether you adopt or you don't, whether it's a boy or a girl, whether it's me or some surgeon, and whether you're old and dried up or you see yourself for who you are. Because, Addison, no matter what, men will always want you. It's just a question of whether you want them back," he tells her.

As far as speeches go, his is the best she's heard since she came to Los Angeles.

Dell pushes himself up from the ground, wiping off his pants and straightening his shirt.

"You leaving?" she asks.

He nods. "Yeah, I'm supposed to check in on Lisa and the baby."

Right. The patient. How did that slip her mind?

Addison, too, gets to her feet. She sniffles, stopping the remaining signs of her breakdown from appearing. The tissue rests by her toes, all tangles and unattractive. It looks deceptively disgusting. She turns away from it, back to Dell.

He's a good guy (especially for a Zefron look-a-like); anyone who spends a few minutes with him can see that. Any girl would be lucky to have him. Too bad he's got his sights set on Naomi. He'd be really good for her, if she ever gave him the chance.

Dell freezes when Addison speaks. He turns to her. His smile is coy now, as if he's expecting her to jump on him after that kiss. (She would, if she were a weaker woman. But she's strong. Well, at least strong enough not to do anything here.)

"You'll never know if you don't try," Addison says. He looks confused.

"I don't-"

"Naomi. Just try, and don't take no for an answer."

He grins, all full of confidence and hope. She remembers when she was like that. It's like college, back before adultery and divorce and interns who ruin lives. Back when she tells another boy to go after Naomi instead of staying with her. Only this time, the boy who kissed her doesn't turn around. And only _that_ time did she wish she could take it back.

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End Author's Note:** Snuck that in there. What'd you think? Tell me in Coldstone's sizes – like it? Love it? Gotta have it? Sorry, there's no size for "go away, you're scaring the normal Addison-junkies." You have to go somewhere else for that.

Haha, I'm a dork. Honestly, though, what did you think of this? Or the things I snuck in there? Or the way it was written? Or even just Dell and Addison? Or Dell as a person and how much you'll miss him and his awesome-ness in the new season.


End file.
